#sofestive

[odoraful]

*sighs lovingly*

[thebratprincexo]

Got to that scene and these screenshots keep killing me.

[frankensteined]

wettest cat in thedas

[peccadrome]

[pctaldrunk]

modern jin si is 1000% the pretty girl that came out of the bar to hold your hair while you puke

[justseventeen]

March 1980. 'Pretty as a picture for the prom in the sofest pastels of spring -- all romanced with ruffles and flirty flounces.'

[fawnme1]

THE SOFEST THING — WILLNE

CHAPTER TWO

previous part ,, next part

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

You hadn’t slept properly in two nights.

The final mix had come in late Wednesday. You’d listened to it on repeat until your ears went numb — second-guessing every breath, every layered harmony, every beat. But somewhere in the chaos of self-doubt, something clicked. It was ready.

And now, it was Friday morning. Release Day.

Joe had offered to come over and celebrate, but you’d waved him off. Same with Alfie. You needed a minute to process this one on your own.

“Dangerous” wasn’t just a song. It was a confession you hadn’t meant to write.

You’d meant to draft something catchy, something vibey for the spring — maybe about confidence, reclaiming your power. But instead, the melody had wrapped itself around your ribs and forced out every emotion you’d tried to ignore. It wasn’t about someone specific. Not really. It was about almosts. The danger of wanting someone you know you shouldn’t. The weight of feeling too much, too quietly.

And once it was out, there was no putting it back.

The premiere hit YouTube at noon sharp.

Your Instagram story updated shortly after.

[caption] “this one’s for the ones who almost let themselves feel something. hope it finds whoever needs it x”

You watched the views start to climb. 1.2k in twenty minutes. Comments already pouring in.

“she’s insane for this. this is too raw”

“this song is everything i’ve never been able to say out loud”

“the bridge??? THE BRIDGE”

You exhaled shakily, heart pounding. It wasn’t about happening.

That’s when your phone started blowing up. Joe. Alfie. Your manager. A few people from your team group chat. All variations of “DUDE” and “this is your best yet” and “I’ve got chills.”

Joe called fast.

“Are you kidding me?” he said before you could even say hello. “You wrote that? You actually WROTE that?”

You laughed nervously. “You sound surprised.”

“I am. Like, in a good way. This is different. It’s…” He paused. “It’s intense. In the best way.”

“Thanks,” you said, and even though your voice was calm, your whole body felt like it was vibrating.

“You good though?” he asked gently, tone shifting. “It sounds… personal.”

You hesitated. “I’m fine. I just… had a lot I needed to get out.”

“You’re gonna break people with this one.”

“I hope not.”

“No, like emotionally. In the way only you can.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled too. “Alright, Shakespeare. Go hype me up in the comments or something.”

“Already did. AB says he’s gonna pretend it’s about him so he can feel something for once.”

You laughed. Loudly.

By that evening, Dangerous was everywhere. TikTok clips. Reaction videos. Fans tweeting lyrics in all caps. You’d even gotten a few DMs from verified artists, complimenting the production and asking if you wrote your own stuff.

And that night, sitting in your room with your laptop and half a cold coffee, you felt something shift. It wasn’t subtle. Not success exactly, but momentum. Like the world had taken a small step closer toward seeing you properly.

You checked your notifications again — more reposts, tags, comments like:

“who HURT her???”

“she’s too single for this level of pain.”

And of course, from Alfie:

“i’m starting a rumour that this song is about a secret ex who’s now married and bald. just letting you know in advance.”

You texted back, “Bold of you to assume he’s bald.”

Joe had left you a voice note earlier that just said, “I know we tease you a lot, but this? This proves you’ve got nothing to prove.”

You listened to it three times.

And still… even with all the noise, all the support, all the validation — you felt that same tug in your chest. The feeling that inspired the song in the first place.

Loneliness dressed up as longing.

Not for just anyone, but for something real.

Something dangerous.

You’d always loved open mics — not the overly-rehearsed, influencer-heavy ones, but the real ones. The underground ones. The kind that took place in dim basements with scratched-up mic stands, sticky floors, and an audience of strangers leaningg just a little too close.

Tonight’s venue was one of those. Somewhere tucked between a bookshop and a fish and chips place in East London, where no one expected you to show up. And that was the whole point.

Joe and Alfie came with, of course. Alfie insisted on calling himself your “tour manager” the entire night, despite doing nothing except carrying your coat and eating half your fries before the show.

“You’re not slick,” you said as he popped another one into his mouth.

He shrugged. “Tour managers gotta stay fueled.”

Joe just laughed, already filming a bit for his story, zooming in on your nervous expression. “Pre-show panic face — iconic,” he said.

Your stuck your tongue out and turned away, heart already racing. It didn’t matter how many gigs you’d done. This kind of show always got to you. There was something about small crowds and the possibility of silence that made it feel more raw. More dangerous, in a way you chose.

You stepped onto the stage. Adjusted the mic. Took a breath.

And started to sing.

“This is dangerous…”

The moment the first chorus hit, the room changed. You could feel it. Heads lifted. Phones came out. You didn’t look directly at anyone — you never did — but you saw people nudging each other. Whispering. Staring.

Somewhere near the back, Alfie let out a low “yesss” like he was watching a football match. Joe was smiling too, phone up, proud and obnoxiously obvious.

When it was over, the silence hung for a second — then applause. Big. Loud. Honest.

It wasn’t just a good set. It was a moment.

You were still buzzing when the three of you stumbled out into the cold night air. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking — not from nerves, but from adrenaline.

“That was actually illegal,” Joe said, pulling his hoodie up. “Like, you should be fined for causing that many people emotional damage in one room.”

“Alfie almost cried,” you teased.

“I did cry,” he corrected. “But in a hot, masculine way.”

You laughed. “Define that.”

“Like… Ryan Gosling in The Notebook.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “More like Ryan Reynolds in Deadpool.”

“Still counts,” Alfie said smugly.

You shook your head, heart still fluttering, not from the show now — but from how good it felt. How seen you felt.

“You know what’s wild?” Joe said after a beat. “You wrote that song about nothing.”

You gave him a look. “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” he clarified, “you haven’t dated in five years, haven’t even looked at someone sideways. And you still managed to write something that sounds like a breakup anthem. That’s talent.”

“Or trauma,” Alfie added helpfully.

You shoved them both playfully, but the teasing stuck — because they weren’t wrong.

You’d written a love song from memory. A heartbreak from theory. You wondered what it would feel like to write one from experience again.

Not that you had time for that.

You had press now. Comments. An inbox full of inquiries. People suddenly cared in a way they hadn’t before. You were buzzing — and slightly overwhelmed.

But somewhere in the middle of all the noise… something quiet was coming.

A message you hadn’t seen yet. A name you hadn’t expected. A familiar face who’d just watched your video.

And for the first time in a long time, someone you’d never meant to think about like that… had started to think about you.

[flowerandblood]

The dearest embrace (AE)

Alternative Ending of The sofest whisper Oneshot

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, angst, smut, breeding and breastfeeding kink, miscarriage, murder, violence ]

[ description: Aemond manages to escape the clutches of death and defeats his uncle in a battle in the skies. He hopes to find his servant there when he returns to Harrenhal, but she has, on his advice, fled. Although he tries, he cannot forget the night he spent with her, a night that was to be the last of her life, and he decides that he will not rest until he finds her. Obsessive, possessive, dark Aemond. ]

The first oneshot ends as it does in canon - Aemond's death during the battle with Daemon. However, I thought it would be interesting to present how I would imagine their fate if he managed to survive. If you thought the first ending was perfect and that an additional story would ruin the story for you, just don't read it.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

He survived.

Although it was he who was to die, Daemon fell into the abyss.

The gods flipped a coin again and this time showed him mercy.

He wasn't sure how he felt when he returned to Harrenhal, when Alys threw herself around his neck with a sob, ready to forgive him for what he had done the night before, ready to accept him deep inside her again, thinking only that he was back.

He, however, instead immediately went to his chamber hoping that he would still find her there, that she had not managed to escape, that she believed he would survive.

That she was waiting for him.

He walked into his chamber and saw emptiness – the only trace of what they had done was a bloody sheet, gone was the bag of coins he had left for her on the table.

She ran away.

Smart girl.

He avoided Alys, saying he needed to rest in solitude and write a letter in peace to his brother-king informing him of his victory.

The truth, however, was that after what he had endured with her that night, after the mesmerising kind of tenderness, intimacy and closeness he had experienced with her convinced he was going to die, his rapprochements with Alys appeared to him as purely animalistic, aggressive, empty.

He spent the next few days thinking about where she might have escaped to as his men searched for her, but to no avail.

He was furious.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

To Alys' despair, he returned to King's Landing unable to endure her constant efforts to gain his attention again, to win his heart back.

It was too late.

It was too late the very moment he saw her in his chamber for the first time.

After convincing him with a few gold coins, one of the innkeepers admitted that he had recently hired a young girl matching his description and that she had rented one of the rooms from him.

His envoy had only managed to find her trail after two months of his constant agony, rage and despair, during which he continually imagined the events of that night.

The way his fingers had driven into her soft flesh, what sweet sounds of pleasure and despair had risen from her throat as thrust after thrust he had taken away her maidenhood.

He set off there immediately on horseback together with some of his guards, without informing either his brother or his mother, disguised in a long grey cloak, a hood over his head so as not to attract anyone's attention with his long white hair.

He stepped into the inn late in the evening, when there were plenty of people there to disappear into the crowd, and felt a painfully strong thump of his heart when he saw her behind the counter – her hair was entwined in a long braid, droplets of sweat from exertion on her face and a calm, warm smile, her slightly rounded abdomen girded with an apron.

She was carrying his child under her heart.

He stared at her from a distance completely frozen, unable to look away, thinking of only one thing.

He walked slowly towards her and she took a step back, terrified, not knowing what to do, how to behave, a man in armour shouted to her impatiently to pour him more beer.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that someone had walked inside and glanced in their direction. He saw her freeze and turn pale, her eyes big, her mouth parted wide in disbelief.

He saw everything in her gaze: fear, joy, disbelief, longing, pain, grief.

"− yes, my Lord −" She mumbled, saying something quickly to the older man who stood beside her. He glanced worriedly in his direction as she spoke to him, then nodded and moved towards the man who was raising his empty tankard into the air.

She walked out to him, wiping her hands on her apron in a nervous gesture, trembling all over, her breathing ragged and uneven, her lips quivering as she spoke to him in a whisper.

"− Your Grace, I −"

"I want to speak with you. Alone."

She nodded, swallowing loudly, and indicated with a hand gesture for him to follow her up the stairs to the inn floor. She pulled a key from the pocket of her bottom gown and slipped it into one of the doors, then opened it.

He walked behind her into a tiny, modest room with one small bed, a table, a chair and a wooden wardrobe. She walked quickly over to the candle and lit it so they wouldn't be standing in complete darkness.

He closed the door behind him and pulled his cloak off his head, never taking his eye off her.

She was exactly as he remembered her.

He could see that her condition was getting worse, the shock beginning to subside with the realisation that he was really standing in front of her, that he had found her.

She moved towards her wardrobe as if she remembered something and from under a pile of blankets pulled out the same bag of coins he had given her. He furrowed his brow as she approached him with it, holding out her hand.

"I spent very little, just on travel, food and rent here the first few nights." She explained in a trembling voice, as soft and warm as he remembered. He pressed his lips together at her words.

"This is your money. It belongs to you." He replied dryly, feeling insulted at the thought that she thought he had gone to so much trouble for a few golden coins.

She swallowed loudly, putting the bag down and looked away, unable to bear his burning gaze.

"Aren't you going to say anything? Aren't you glad I survived?" He asked with a pain and disappointment that surprised him, as if he expected her to throw herself into his arms with tears.

She looked at him with those big, warm eyes of hers, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lips trembled at his words. She pressed her hands against her stomach – for a moment she looked as if she was choking, tear after tear began to run down her cheeks red with emotion.

"What I am feeling now I can only reveal to the gods in my prayers. In the same ones in which I begged them to spare your life." She choked out finally, and he swallowed loudly, feeling a squeeze in his throat and chest, his hands clenched into fists.

"Is that my child?" He asked, a grimace of pain passed across her face – she covered her face with her hand as if she didn't believe this was really happening.

"− please − have mercy −" She mumbled and he approached her with a sudden, aggressive step, towering over her. She drew in the air loudly, looking at him terrified, his hand tightened on her hair not allowing her to turn her face away.

"Don't you feel anything at the sight of me? At the memory of me deep inside you? Hm? It means nothing to you?" He asked coldly, her eyes hot, warm tears running down her cheeks and dripping onto the exposed skin of his wrist, her body twitching in convulsions.

He kissed her, kissed her as if she were a spring of water and he hadn't drunk in months, as if she were a warm bed and he hadn't been able to rest for many nights, as if she were a soothing whisper when all he could hear in his head was a thousand screams.

His tongue slid between her lips in a lingering, deep kiss, her startled, stifled moan caught in her throat, his hand holding her in a steel grip, refusing to let her move away.

He hummed low under his breath, satisfied when he felt her lips part invitingly, brushing his thirsty, longing-filled skin – they embraced at last and pressed against each other like a pair of lovers, her rounded belly pressed against his body.

He took her with gentle, steady, deep thrusts on her bed, lying behind her, panting loudly along with her, the wooden frame creaking each time he stretched her wonderfully tight insides again and again with his painfully hard cock, swollen with yearning.

"− did you long for it? − did you dream of me coming back and doing it to you again? − of my cock deep inside you? −" He gasped out, tightening his hand on her plushy hip.

She mewled softly, her fingers clenched on his arm with which he embraced her waist, his nose pressed against the hollow of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweat, their bodies, hot and sticky with exertion, slapping against themselves with each of his thrusts.

"− yes − gods, yes −" She mumbled, tears of pain, longing, terror and joy running down her fair, hot, soft cheeks, her thighs spread wide in a gesture of complete submission, allowing him to slam into her as deeply as he wanted.

"− you did so well − already carrying my child − I'm going to put another and another inside you − hm? − my sweet little girl −" He breathed out into her ear and she came hard at his words, moaning and sobbing, her fleshy, hot muscles began to clench on him greedily in pleasure, squeezing his seed out of him. He closed his eyes in pleasure, his naked, sweaty chest pressed against the skin of her back.

"− that's it − don't waste even a drop − yes, just like that −" He murmured in delight, thrusts of his length pushing his spend as deep inside her as possible.

They lay breathing loudly, embracing each other, their bodies entwined together with their hands and legs, his cheek pressed against hers, his soft manhood still deep inside her hot body.

They were one.

"Return with me to the Red Keep." He whispered.

She trembled all over and swallowed loudly, her whole body tensing in terror. He felt it and placed a soft, light kiss on her bare shoulder.

She was a free woman.

He could not take her against her will.

"I will only bring you dishonour and shame." She mumbled through her tears and he chuckled low, stroking the bare skin of her slightly rounded belly with his fingers.

"I am a kinslayer. You are incapable of bringing me greater dishonour than that which I have brought upon myself."

His mother took his decision with fury. What he was doing was against their faith and beliefs, against good customs. She spoke to him about marriage, about the disgrace to his future wife. He laughed at his words.

"What self-respecting lady would marry a kinslayer? I have no desire to push my child inside a woman who feels nothing but disgust for me, mother. I cast Daemon down from the heavens, I won the war for us. This is what I demand in return."

He assigned her a chamber in a seldom-visited part of the keep, hiding her like his secret treasure, watching her abdomen swell from his heritage, from his seed.

He cherished her character, the fact that she understood their situation and that it would never change, that she would never become his wife, that their children would be bastards, that the kingdom would call their relationship sinful and ungodly.

He made sure that the other servants did not get the idea of hurting or poisoning her as a gesture of jealousy or honour, and promised that if anything happened to her, each of them would lose an eye.

They knew he wasn't lying.

Although the news of Alys' pregnancy broke him down at first, he later came to terms with it, however, it was seeing his servant with a stomach swollen from his child that brought him some kind of satisfaction and contentment.

When he visited her he would watch her lying on her bed in her nightgown, sitting in his chair, one of her hands stroking her belly, the other holding the book she was reading to him.

This was their ritual, their time of intellectual intimacy.

He felt some kind of pride hearing how fluently she read, almost no longer making mistakes.

She shuddered suddenly, pausing and looked down at her rounded abdomen with a smile.

"− our child is wriggling − someone here was intrigued by the story −" She said with the warmth, joy and lightness characteristic of her. He hummed under his breath, squinting his eyebrows in satisfaction.

Then he undid the buckles of his black tunic, untied his breeches and lay down behind her, putting his arms around her, her hands immediately on his, a murmur of comfort, contentment and security emanating from her breasts.

He usually took her before she went to sleep, sinking between her thighs with a sigh of delight, wonderfully squeezed on all sides. He forced his way into herwith his always ready, hard erection, which she welcomed inside her with the patience of a saint, moaning sweetly in his arms, her moisture slick against his thighs each time his naked body slapped against her sticky buttocks again.

He felt a sense of peace.

She did not demand anything from him.

She didn't ask him uncomfortable questions.

She didn't get upset when he couldn't spend time with her, taking handfuls of what he gave her.

For the first time in his life, he finally felt like he was enough for someone.

Her understanding, her humility, her patience, her warmth and joy at every moment they spent together filled his chest with a warm feeling he didn't want to feel.

The only thing she feared was that Alys would try to poison or hurt her. He hadn't visited her since he brought this innocent creature to the Red Keep, filling her to the brim with his seed almost every night.

He guessed that she already knew that she was expecting his child. He ordered his servants to try her food and drink before giving her anything, two of his trusted guards watching her chambers in his absence on his command.

Eventually, however, he received a letter from Harrenhal that Alys had given birth to his son and that her condition was good. He welcomed this news and, albeit reluctantly, decided to travel to Harrenhal to greet his offspring.

He had informed her of this the day before, lying in bed with her, taking an unruly strand of curls from her warm face, raspy with exertion after he had came deep inside her.

"I have to leave for a few days." He said briefly and matter-of-factly, not wanting to get into the subject.

He saw in her gaze that she understood at once what he meant, her eyebrows arched in pain. She nodded, in her eyes both regret and understanding at the same time.

She said nothing.

She knew that she had no right to demand anything from him.

However, he allowed her to snuggle into him, giving her comfort in his arms, enveloping her into his embrace, creating a fortress out of his body in which she could hide.

When he arrived in Harrenhal Alys greeted him with his son in her arms. He kissed her forehead and looked at the white-haired infant with satisfaction, expressing his sincere joy that the child was healthy and that she had survived the birth without complications.

He ate supper with her, however, despite her pleas, he did not stay in bed with her.

He had no desire to do so.

"You are here in body, but not in heart." She said to him regretfully as he sat in a chair in front of her. He looked at her impassively, not knowing what he should reply to such a statement, or from her perspective, an accusation.

"I am performing my duty. Harrenhal is yours, and after your death it will fall to our son. You lack nothing. What more do you want from me, Alys?" He asked frustrated, and she furrowed her raven-black eyebrows, shaking her head.

"I want you. I've lost you." She said in pain, her green eyes red from tears she was holding back by force of her will. She walked towards him and kneeled in front of him, looking at him pleadingly, reaching with her hand to untie his breeches. He stroked her cheek.

"I'm not for sale." He said calmly, pushing her wrist away with a gentle flick of his hand, then slowly got up and walked out, leaving her with an expression of despair and shock on her face.

He had no intention of forcing himself into anything.

He had no intention of pretending.

He never promised her anything.

All he could think about was her sweet lips clenched around his fat cock, sucking it in a wonderfully unhurried, tender rhythm, each time bravely swallowing everything that spilled out of him, doing so with a surprisingly innocent, calm look on her face, drawing from his throat sounds he had never made before.

However, he wanted to be a good father and promised to visit his son once every few months, giving him his full attention.

He returned to King's Landing on Vhagar with a strange kind of relief, tired and discouraged, the stares and silence of Alys driving him mad.

He headed straight for her chamber, wanting to touch her, to smell her, to see her face unbidden by resentment, disappointment and regret.

When he opened the door she shuddered, lifting herself up on the bed, snapped out of a deep sleep. She rose from her place and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

He was relieved to snuggle his nose into her hair, embracing her warm, small body with his arms.

"I'm back."

He took her slowly, asking her how much she had missed him, whether she had obeyed and not touched herself in his absence as he had commanded.

"− I have obeyed you, my Prince − I swear −" She mumbled, her breasts bouncing gently with each of his slow, firm, deep thrusts, her hot muscles throbbing hungrily against him, wanting to keep him inside her, thirsty and yearning.

He hummed contentedly at her words, delighted by her obedience, by the fact that she always did everything to please him.

"− very well − my little girl deserves to be taken care of, hm? − to relieve her a little −" He murmured between tender kisses placed on her neck, his hands roaming over her breasts and belly, her skin wonderfully soft and warm, her scent filling his lungs, her fingers tightening on his arms.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, writhing before him, impatient, having not tasted fulfillment for days.

"− please, what? −" He growled out warningly, tightening his hand on her thigh, lifting it up slightly, sliding into her faster, more violently, her head tilted back.

"− please, my Prince − please, I have waited so patiently for this −" She whimpered, and he chuckled at her words, delighted by her desperation and helplessness.

"− indeed − you deserve a reward − that's right, there you go − good girl −" He praised her as she cried out feeling his hand between her thighs, his palms spread her moisture over her hot womanhood and began to rub her puffy bud with circular, sure strokes, drawing sweet, helpless sounds from her throat.

"− oh, gods − ah −" She mumbled unable to get any meaningful sentences out.

He leaned back pulling her with him, resting the weight of her body against him, gripping her jaw in his hand, the other caressing and teasing the spot of her greatest pleasure. He forced her to look down.

"− look how good you're taking me − how tight you are, how my cock is stretching your body − see? −" He breathed out into her ear and she nodded, moaning and sobbing, her hand rising and involuntarily gripping his hair, her hips responding to his every thrust, their bodies slapping against each other with a wet, loud smacks.

"− do you like this view? − hm? −" He asked in delight, and in response received her loud, pathetic whimper and a powerful orgasm that shook her body.

"− fuck −" He muttered, panting along with her, their bodies relaxed as they lay in a tight embrace, their legs and hands entwined together, his cheek pressed against her shoulder.

He moaned low, surprised, pressing his face against her neck, prolonging his pleasure with a few more desperate thrusts before he peaked inside her with a sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure he'd ever come so hard before.

By a hair's breadth, words would burst out of his mouth that he would later regret, that he would be ashamed of.

Never in his life would he admit out loud that he longed for her.

He licked his effort-dry lips and sighed quietly, closing his eyes, exhausted, falling asleep with her almost immediately, his lungs filling with her pleasant scent.

On the day of her delivery, he was restless, walking around his chamber waiting for any news. He prayed that she would survive, that the child would be healthy, that the gods would not punish them for his actions, for his sins.

When his servant told him that it was all over he waited impatiently until night fell, not wanting to stir up yet more gossip and commentary among the court, and headed to her chamber to visit her.

He felt an immense sense of relief when he saw her lying on her bed, already dressed in a new, clean nightgown, lying under fresh sheets, her hair loose, a dark-haired infant in her hands.

She was rocking their child with an expression of contentment and tenderness on her face from which he felt a squeeze in his chest.

When she heard him enter she lifted her gaze to him, a wide, sincere smile on her face, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Look, my Prince. I have never seen a more beautiful creature than your daughter." She said warmly, and he felt a tightening in his throat at her words, at the news that he had a daughter who could be as kind, warm and affectionate as her mother.

Her mother leaned over her and tenderly kissed her little forehead, humming contentedly.

He approached them slowly and stood over them with his hands folded behind his back, looking at the infant dressed in a long white robe.

His daughter had his eyes.

"She smells wonderful. It's almost addictive. What shall we name her, my Prince?" She asked quietly, lifting her soft, warm gaze to him, their daughter's tiny hand clenched on her finger.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his throat was strangely constricted, something moving about the sight. He grunted quietly, thinking.

"Rhaenys." He said lowly, pressing his lips together, recalling a sentence in one of the books he was reading, dedicated to Aegon the Conqueror.

King Aegon the Conqueror was said to have married Princess Visenya out of duty, and Princess Rhaenys out of lust and love. For one night with Princess Visenya, he spent ten in his younger sister's bed.

She smiled and nodded, accepting his decision without a word of complaint, apparently deciding it was a nice name, kissing her little daughter's plump cheek.

He did not know why, but he could watch the interactions between her and their daughter for hours sitting in his chair.

Rhaenys appeared to be a cheerful child, babbling loudly, through her mother's incessant speaking to her she reacted vividly to her every move or facial expression, squirming and giggling, catching her feet in her tiny chubby hands, swinging from side to side.

He felt something when he looked at them – he knew it and it frightened him, but he also found some kind of comfort in it.

He could no longer spend a day without visiting them, he spent whole evenings in their company.

At night, when Rhaenys finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, her belly full of her milk, he gave his attention only to her.

He could not find them conversing much, if anything discussing what she was reading to him, however, the way they kissed, the way their lips found each other instantly as soon as he lay down beside her, the way their hands stroked their cheeks and hair made him feel a pleasant, light tickle in his abdomen.

He adored her body, the way it reacted to him. He adored the way she sounded, sweet and innocent, he adored the way she melted under his fingers as he forced his tongue deep inside her, rewarding her for her devotion, for her patience, for her forbearance, as he opened her wide with his cock, hard with desire, to fill her again with his seed.

Not even a few months had passed and she was expecting his child again.

He was paying great attention to her breasts, wonderfully full of milk, sucking her breastmilk from her nipples, sweet and warm, whimpering and panting along with her as she rode him.

"Leave something for our daughter, my Prince." She cooed with warm amusement, stroking his hair and hugging his head to her chest, coming with delight on his painfully hard cock as she listened to him swallow her milk greedily, unable to pull away, filling her with himself with a wonderful sigh of relief.

And then his worst nightmare came true.

Under the inattention of his guards, a strange man burst into her chamber with a dagger, lashing out at her. She struggled against him, but he covered her mouth, trying to cut her throat with his other hand – only the screaming and crying of their daughter brought the guards inside, who disarmed him.

He only managed to slit her arm and wrist, however, what was most frightening when he burst into her chamber, terrified, was the sea of blood between her thighs where she was lying, sobbing loudly.

Their child in her womb.

It was the first time he'd ever heard anyone make a sound like hers – she was wailing and howling as if she were an animal, and he felt as if someone was ripping his insides out from the inside.

He was afraid to touch her, afraid that he would hurt her even more, unable to find words of comfort either for himself or for her.

He sentenced the guards who had allowed this to happen to death despite his mother's pleas for him to show them mercy.

He himself had supervised the interrogation of the man who had been caught, wanting to draw out of him who had done it.

He insisted that he didn't know where he got the money from, that an intermediary had come to him, set him a task and told him he would be paid double if he managed to kill both the girl and their daughter.

More elaborate torture, however, refreshed his memory, one very important detail, the place from which that man had come.

"Harrenhal."

At first he wanted to burn Alys alive in the Vhagar's fire.

Later, however, he decided that he would show her mercy and sent his envoy to her, who after a few days reported to him that the matter had been resolved.

He wrote him that she had not defended herself against the cut of his dagger, as if reconciled to her fate.

He personally flew to take his son from Harrenhal, having no intention of leaving him in the care of strangers.

He was of his blood.

He was relieved that she was treating Vaemond as if he were her child, offering to look after both his children as they needed a mother in the same way. He agreed seeing how quickly his son bonded with her, how he lunged into her embrace reaching out his chubby arms to her, impatient.

He wasn't sure Alys had ever shown him as much tenderness, interest and care as she had. She sang to him and read to him, carried him in her arms for hours when he had a colic or cried.

His presence helped her deal with the grief and suffering of losing their child, her scars had healed, but he knew that, like the one on his face, they would remain on her body for life, reminding her of this event.

Precisely because she had been so caring towards him, his son and their daughter, during the night when he was reunited with her with his body he was even more tender to her, even more understanding, caressing her for hours with his tongue alone, teasing and sucking her bud, making her a babbling, helpless mess, ripping from her fulfilment after fulfilment.

When his brother decided to give him Dragonstone as a reward for his services he took her with him, not imagining that she should be anywhere else.

She wore the gowns he had given her, blue, with long sleeves reaching the ground, emphasising the wonderfully dark colour of her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes, sapphire necklaces around her neck.

Looking at her from the side, sitting on the stone floor, reading to his children at his feet, he thought that enough was enough.

That he would do it right.

He called the right man and told her to follow him into the night without asking where they were going or why.

They got out through a back passage to the seashore.

She did not understand what was happening, why he had said he would cut her lips and her hands, let alone why he had told her to do the same. She trembled with tears in her eyes as he cut her soft skin with the dragonglass, and he watched the sight as if enchanted, strangely calm.

He told her to drink their mingled blood from the goblet, so she did, terrified, touching him by the fact that, as usual, she obeyed him, full of trust.

He took the goblet from her and drank a deep sip from it himself, licking his lips, delighted by this sensation, this ritual that united them forever.

She looked at him questioningly as he handed the cup back to the man standing next to them, wanting to understand what had happened, why they were doing this, what purpose it would serve. He looked at her and for a moment he couldn't get anything out.

He was furious with himself, but he was emotional, his throat constricted.

"I just became your husband."

She looked at him in disbelief and laughed, thinking he was mocking her.

After a moment she made big eyes, her eyebrows arched in pain, her lower lip trembling.

"− please, my Prince, it's not funny −" She gasped regretfully.

He looked down at her with calm eyes, waiting for her to realise he wasn't joking.

If it didn't get to her then, she understood it when he pressed her face against the cold wall of the underpass under Dragonstone, pulling her skirt up, the space between her buttocks shiny and glistening from her juices. He slapped her there with his hand and she cried out loudly, clasping her hands on the stone wall, leaning forward.

"− my little wife is always so fucking wet − hm? − constantly asking for my cock −" He hummed, untying his breeches and lowering them quickly, with one, sure thrust, stretching her tight, hot walls to their limits, their loud moan echoing around them as he began to fuck her with brutal, deep stabs of his hips.

They had their wedding night long ago then, in Harrenhal.

Now he just wanted to fuck her.

"− happy now? −" He mocked and she nodded, all red and hot with emotion, her whole body trembling in convulsions.

He could feel by the way she clenched down on him that she was close to fulfilment and watched with delight as with each thrust his length stretched her tight, hot walls again and again.

"− I'll put my next child inside you − hm? −" He hissed, tightening his fingers more firmly on her hips, pumping his manhood even deeper into her, all the way to the end, her moans turned into mewling and whimpering.

"− you must secure my inheritance − as any − good − wife − would − do −" He growled, the last words uttered accompanied by determined, deep thrusts from which she almost screamed, her face wonderfully red and warm, stunned by the pleasure and this partly brutal, partly passion-filled sensation.

"− please − oh, gods −" She sobbed loudly, coming hard on his length with her mouth wide open, he sighed heavily tilting his head up, feeling her walls throbbing against him and he gave in, filling her at last with himself.

"− take it − take your husband's spend like a good wife − you'll give me many more children − fuck, yes −" He breathed out, looking down at her, holding her hips with his hands, feeling her slump to the ground otherwise.

She opened her eyelids and looked up at him with her hot gaze, the kind he adored most, and whispered the words that sent a shiver through him.

"Fill me again in your bed, my husband."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ how he kisses you ” : 

﹙ naga poet boyfriend x gn reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 781 talisen x gn reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ grim reaper ˖ naga ˖ poet character ﹚

types of kisses from your poetic lover <3

﹙ cws ﹚: none | wc : 0.5k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: i just had to give my husband some softness ahhhh

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Talisen's kisses always linger in the sofest of ways. A touch of velvet to your lips, your forehead, all over your face — wherever he possibly can. His lips are worshippers, so it's befitting that he finds you divine, is it not?

He hardly cares if it is not unique. Your lips will always be his favourite. Whether it be feathered morning kisses in the peeps of sun from blinds while the two of you lay in bed. Or full, passionate kisses with his hands cupped around your face, to cradle you like the moon with the stars overhead as your witness. Every opportunity with your lips is a new blessing to him. Take your breath away or hear your soft giggles, he cares not. As long as he can feel their delicate touch.

Safe to say that while he has a poetic tongue it hardly means what many assume. He can take your breath away in many other aspects as well. Spread heat across your face and have you gasp for air when he draws back from making your mouth his home. The evidence of saliva connected so proudly. And all he'll do it brush a cold thumb on your lower lip, tilt your head back and connect your lips once more.

He is also quite fond of the classic hand kiss. Can you blame him? Not only does he get to feel your fingers between his, but he's able to brush his lips against your knuckles as though you were the fairest of the land. To him you are. Always.

His favourite is when you look up at him with those pleading eyes whenever you want something. He could be mid-cooking the night away when you trot into the kitchen to so sweetly ask for a taste. While he might sigh, even roll his eyes in endearment, he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead while he's stirring at a pot of whatever's on the menu tonight.

Kisses to the back your neck when his long arms snake around you from behind. It's one of his favourite methods of comfort, for you and him. After a long day, all he wants to do is melt into you. Engulf you in his entirety.

When you are laid snug in his bed with your limps all entangled, his butterfly kisses come next. With his long, feathered lashes batting against yours. He laughs whenever your face scrunches up at the ticklish feeling. He'll make sure to squeeze your cheeks between a hand and press a tender kiss to your lips instead,

He adores your thighs. Loves when he can lay his head on them. Sometimes he gets a bit indulgent and decides to press kisses along the soft flesh. Just to see it shiver and twitch. He even has the audacity to smile against them! And flutter his pretty maroon eyes up at you as though he's done absolutely nothing wrong.

Speaking of smiling. Talisen has a habit of his lips curling whenever they find yours. He cannot help it. Regardless of how many times you tease him for it. Must he act as if he is not over the moon to kiss you? He is an actor, but your lips are no stage. They are everything to him.

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[im-notbean]

☆ Bakusquad, Holding their hand / What their hands feel like! ☆

Bakugo Katsuki

Man, we all know that Bakugo dead lifts. Or weight lifts in general. So his hands are callused as fuckkkkk. But like also supper fucking soft at the same time?? (My brother weight lifts and has the exact same thing, crazy right?). His hands are always a tiny bit warm or sweaty,so when you try to hold his hand he get really self conscious and moves his hand away for yours. But he really likes it when you go like "Babeeee." and grab his arm and frown, he thinks it's adorable but we all know he won't admit that out loud.

Kirishima Ejiro

Two words. Baby. Soft. Hands. I swear Kirishima has the sofest hands known to man. And he fucking knows it. Like you brush against his hand slightly and he just will take your hand and intertwine your fingers. And when you turned to him a little flushed he flashes you the biggest smile with his shark teeth and with his own slightly pink cheeks, to say the least your in heaven.

Kaminari Denki

He has some light scaring on his hands, and they look either like his vains or lighting. Loves it when you go down and kiss some of his hand scars, it make him feel so loved abd cared for. He. Will. Intertwine. Fingers. He'll be skipping around and then he'll intertwine your fingers and you two will be skipping around together! (Might I say this is probably the sweetest thing I have ever wrote in a bit, okay bye)

Sero Hanta

I think out of the Bakusquad boys Sero has the most calloused hands out of the other 3. Sero is definitely strong but like a leany-ish strong, Sero really needs to flex for you to see all of his muscles. Which means he has strong hands, really vainy too. I can see him walking behind you and holding one of your hands and your waist at the same time.

Ashido Mina

Mommy? She has scars on the palm of her hands that are really rough to the touch, she doesn't show it but she's actually really inscure about them. So before you hold her hand kiss her scars, then she'll melt into your touch. (see what i did their 🤭)

Jiro Kyoka

Mommy 2.0?? I can see her finger tips being a bit more roughed up from playing the guitar, maybe some light scaring on her middle finger or pointer finger? But her hands are generally a bit on the dryer side and calloused, but soft, dunno how but they are. She gets flustered the slightest bit when you move to hold her hand.

-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-__-

[all-or-nothing-baby]

the dumb jarhead half-buzzcut? the adorable jug ears? a surely more than thrice-broken roman nose? the scowl to beat all scowls? eyes of a brutal revenge-driven killer yet also huge and watery and boba-like due to multitudes including the most fierce and loyal of loves; more grief and pain and guilt than you can possibly fathom being crammed into one human being; plus the soul of The Sofest Softboi™ to ever inhabit god's green earth? and you expect me not to be rock hard?? suuure, okay.

[sincere1ystar]

Homesick

billy the kid x fem! reader

Billy comes home after a long day

authors note: sorry this is so short!! just a little thing to get me out of this rut

Billy comes home exhausted. It’s not just normal exhaustion, it’s the kind of tiredness that affects his mind as well as his body. He makes his way to the bedroom desiring nothing more than wanting to rest his aching bones. Atleast that’s what he thinks he desires before he hears the sounds of your soft laughter.

“Billy! When did you get home? I didn’t notice you walking through the door… Did you just get here?”, you say as Billy slowly lifts his head from the pillows.

“Jus’ got here”, he softly mumbles as he slowly pulls you closer to him longing for your warmth and presence.

Your face falls a bit at the sound of his tired tone. “You tired? You seem tired”.

“Mm yeah… not too tired to lie down with you though”, he says as he pats the side next to him. “C’mere baby”.

“You’re all clingy when you’re half awake”, you giggle as he pulls you into his side.

“Got the sweetest n sofest girl in the whole county.. course I ain’t letting her go”. Billy’s always be one to show how much he loves you. He doesn’t need to though , his actions already say enough. You would have never known how cold the night was lying next to him.

You never talk about the wanted posters that his face was plastered onto, but he knows you still see them. He knows how you once were the people’s princess of town, but that crown has slipped off your head ever since the two of you have been together. They hated in Billy, and in turn hated you for being so openly associated with him.

Yet you still remained soft and kind. You still offered to help the town’s elderly, even now as they were saying awful things about you under their breath as you helped them cross the street. You still wore that bright smile made out of pure sunshine, despite it being returned with frowns. Billy didn’t know how, but you still managed to hold your head high. That didn’t mean he didn’t fear that one day you’d notice how your glow had dimmed being with him.

“Will you stay with me?”, he says meekly with your head still resting on his chest.

“ ‘F course”, you mutter into his chest sleepily. “Where else would I be silly?” You didn’t care about the labels thrown onto him, forcing him into a man when he was just a boy and now painting him out to be a boy when he was a man .

Billy knew the one name that before being Billy the Kid or William Bonney, he was yours.

[psychcollegeau]

jules headcanons because i love her more than literally anyone <3<3<3

-the most adorable cinnamon roll and the sweetest person you've ever met... who could kill you in less than a minute

-loves writing stories and coming up with her own original characters

-the softest freaking hair. the. sofest. lassie started braiding her hair in AP history class and never stopped

-had a vitamin d deficiency as a kid and now she spends at least an hour a day outside in the park, probably reading or writing

-she's assisstant manager at the campus coffee shop (shawn works there and she is soooo done with with his bs)

-she has really bad insomnia so lassiter started having sleepovers with her and now they have one every week (obviously they have snacks and minecraft and they talk for most of the night)

-after lassiter introduced her to minecraft, she started a gaming channel under the name julesrules57 (sometimes she does collabs with lassiter and he gives her diamond armour every time because she always breaks it from fighting to much)

-really likes collecting trinkets and has a whole shelf dedicated to it

-really good at natural sciences but chemistry is lost on her

-does karate and jui jitsu. goes to meets with pigatils and bright pink sneakers and crushes everyone with no mercy. they all fear this 5'3 demon with hello kitty hair clips

-watches the most bonechilling, horrifying psychological horror without even batting an eye but gets scared the second she sees a ladybug

-keeps blackmail files on everyone who's ever wronged her and decorates them with sparkly stickers and colorful tabs

-whenever she gets overwhelmed with work, school, martial arts, her clubs and relationships, she cuddles her snorlax plushy and falls asleep

-one dude in her history class said women belonged in the kitchen, so the next day she brought in her homemade pasta... and gave him food poisoning for the next week

-listens to taylor swift and billie eilish. she contains multitudes (whereas her boyfriends contain multiple dudes- okay i'll leave)

[nightfall-kachiniko]

PLEASE CALL ME ANGEL KEIGO IN THE SOFEST VOICE YOU CAN WHILE U GENTLY STROKE MY BACK AS I CUDDLE INTO THE CROOK OF YOUR NECK.

[crisalidaseason]

All I can think of is domestic Ineffable bureaucracy

Domestic IB is Gabriel and Beelzebub moving into a cottage in a paradisiac place (in whatever planet and galaxy, but there is a cottage there I won't hear otherwise)

Domestic IB is Beelzebub quickly realizing that napping is one of the best feelings for a formerly overworked demon. They don't need it, but it's a small comfort just like hot chocolate is for Gabriel. Also, if Gabriel joins the nap, he is the little spoon.

Domestic IB is Gabriel building a dedicated section of their cottage just for Beelzebub's flies to hang around and thrive. It's a full ecossistem the angel builds there. The flies might not be ordinary ones, but they sure enjoy behaving as a fly.

Domestic IB is Beelzebub teaching the angel how to dance even thought they're not an expert dancer. The couple stumbles, constantly sway out rythm and yet they smile.

Domestic IB is Gabriel laying on a hammock, on the porch, and watching as the day goes by with Beelzebub snuggling next to them.

Domestic IB is Beelzebub agressively loving the angel and wanting to squeeze him until Gabriel pops like a baloon. Gabriel enjoys every second.

Domestic IB is Gabriel singing to Beelzebub until they sleep on their hammock. The angel has all the demon's favorite songs memorized.

Domestic IB is Gabriel gifting Beelzebub clothes with the sofest fabric and cutest prints, he gifted the demon a silk pajama set with a flower fly print. The angel also constantly cares for Beelzebub's collections of hats.

Domestic IB is Beelzebub returning the favor by miracling their angel the biggest fluffy robes in many colors because they find cute how Gabriel likes to twirl with the fabric.

Domestic IB is them being disgustingly in love and constantly calling each other pet names, declaring their love, cuddling and kissing.

Domestic IB in which they like to decorate their home with zero sense of design and their home is just na amalgamation of colors, shapes and textures.

Domestic IB is Gabriel revealing that he knows how to draw by gifting Beelzebub a handmade sketchbook with a huge catalogue of flies and bees inside. He has little facts written on the pages and even got the little fly Beelzebub gifted him to sign with their little legs.

Domestic IB is all I can think about.

[racingliners]

Now that pre-season testing is almost over for another year (😭) I want to know what everyone's favourite part of testing is (not the 2024 test, just in general)

(as always please reblog for sample size!)